


Let Me Stand Next to Your Fire

by Tierra469



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cuddling Castiel/Dean Winchester, First Time, Hand Jobs, Hypothermic Dean Winchester, Impala Makeouts, Impala Sex, Jealous Dean Winchester, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Purring Castiel, Season/Series 13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-10-04
Packaged: 2019-07-25 07:57:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16193354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierra469/pseuds/Tierra469
Summary: The one where Dean, Sam and Cas get trapped in a blizzard in the Impala overnight (somewhere in the midst of Season 13) and Cas keeps them warm. Dean gets a little overheated. PS: Angel singing feels like purring.





	Let Me Stand Next to Your Fire

He should have paid more attention to the forecast—that much was clear. He kept waiting for Sam to say something; he could virtually feel an “I told you so” coming on. Sam had first suggested they bail off the highway in Kearney. Then again when that rig they were tailing took the last exit about ten miles back. Dean risked a glance over at his brother, but Sam was now staring out the window, thin-lipped.

Dean squinted back out the windshield in front of him, into the whirling snow. There were no more tire tracks to follow, no tail-lights ahead of him. Occasionally the howling wind blew fiercely enough to reveal a glimpse of pavement, before the snow quickly covered it up again. At least he was still on the highway and not heading across somebody’s back forty—but that was not going to be a given much longer.

“Where the hell are we?” he barked, fingers tightening even harder on the wheel. “How far to the next exit?”

“About thirty more miles,” Sam said.

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

“It’s mesmerizing,” Cas observed from the back seat.

Dean huffed. The road was fast disappearing under a blanket of white. A mile marker materialized out of the blizzard just a couple feet from the Impala’s fender, Dean tried to correct course, and the car began to fishtail.

“Fuck! Come on Baby…”

Sam grunted, grabbing the dash as Dean worked the steering wheel over for a few tense moments before finally getting the Impala back under control.

“Perhaps you should reduce your speed,” Cas offered.

Dean took a deep breath and blew it slowly out his mouth. He backed off the accelerator a bit, but he really just wanted to get off this godforsaken highway and out of Snowmageddon before dark. Without having punched Sam or Cas.

“Turn the heat up some more,” he grumbled.

“It’s as up as it gets,” Sam replied.

“Then find a damn radio station.”

The only radio station that came in featured an overwrought meteorologist ranting about the blizzard of the century, warning every soul in the listening area to stay off the roads.

“Find a goddamn _tape_!” Dean snapped. “Gimme some Zeppelin.”

Sam sighed as if all life were leaving him, reaching a long arm down between his legs to drag out Dean’s raggedy box of ancient cassettes.

They seemed to be driving right into the storm, snow falling thicker and faster. Drifts were beginning to form across the highway, the Impala plowing through each of them with a satisfying _poof._

Perhaps three more miles, and Dean was just slipping into a little _Kashmir_ trance, when a billboard loomed out of the gloom ahead.

“Ready to meet your maker?” Cas read aloud.

Something about that little sentiment sent a chill up Dean’s spine, despite Sam’s deadpanned, “We’ve met.” In the half-second it took for Dean to realize they were passing a bit too close to that billboard, they had struck mile-marker 412 with a sickening snap, followed by the groan and scrape of complaining metal as the post dragged along Baby’s undercarriage.

Clearing the post, the Impala tobogganed gracefully into the ditch—throwing up a spectacular snow-white explosion—and came softly and gently to rest against a barbed wire fence, its strands illuminated in her headlights.

For a moment or two, nobody moved or spoke.

“Sonofa _BITCH,_ ” Dean growled. This was _not_ part of the plan. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, exhaling, and reminded himself it could be worse. “Sorry, baby,” he muttered. “Everybody ok?”

“Yes,” Cas replied.

“We’re screwed,” Sam griped, and Dean wanted to throttle him.

Instead he threw the car into reverse and punched the accelerator—then quickly realized that the wheels were not touching the ground.

“Wow,” Sam said.

Dean spun on him. “You got something you wanna say? Come on—I know you’re dying to say it!”

Sam pulled a stupid grimace—which said it all—shrugged, and shook his head.

“God _dammit_. Hey, Cas…” Dean turned from his brother to keep from killing him—turned to look at his secret weapon in the back seat. “Can you… y’know… mojo us back on the road?”

Cas squinted at him, chin lifted. “I can try.”

Cas’ mojo was not what it should be—as usual. It had only been a couple weeks since the angel had been released from a month-long stay in Hell’s dungeon (Dean still felt like the worst friend ever…), and only a couple months since he’d been _dead,_ for Chrissake. Dean was still riding high on having his angel back in the Impala, where he belonged. Although it would have been nice if The Big Empty’s douchey cryptkeeper had sent him back juiced up instead of at a quarter tank—like he was when he died.

Perching on the edge of the seat, Cas closed his eyes; Dean held his breath. Cas opened his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, brow furrowing. “Apparently I can’t.”

Dean sighed, turned from Cas to fix Sam with a glare. “Ok then. Shovels are in the trunk. Let’s go, Bumble. You too, Hermey,” he tossed back at Cas.

Dean pulled the keys from the ignition and opened his door, the wind catching it and nearly tearing the handle from his grip. “Ho!” Stepping out into the snowy ditch, he promptly sunk to his waist. He looked through the car to see Sam do the same on the other side, both of them trying to manhandle their doors closed again.

“Are you kidding me?!” Sam shouted, his voice torn away by the gale. The two men, followed by Castiel, waded back to the trunk. Dean tried to open it carefully, but the wind flung the trunk lid wide, the metal hinges shrieking in protest. Sam grabbed the lid to hold it while Dean leaned in, his belly cold against the metal lip, to wrestle two spades out. He handed them to Cas, and the brothers managed to slam the trunk shut.

“You really think we’re going to dig our way out of this?” Sam yelled, pulling his hat down over his ears.

“We’re gonna try,” Dean answered, having to turn his face away from the frigid wind. He grabbed a shovel back from Cas and set to digging ferociously behind the left rear tire. It was worse than gravedigging in sand; as fast as he dug the hole, the wind filled it back in.

“Not happening!” he heard Sam yell from the other side.

“Let me try something,” Cas said from behind him. “Stand back.”

Dean struggled backward, feeling Cas catch his arm before he could fall over into a drift. He righted himself and squinted at the angel; Cas’ hair and back were plastered with snow, his thin trench coat whipping around him in the wind. No hat or gloves. Dean hoped his half-assed grace was sufficient to prevent frostbite.

Cas stretched out an arm and as the brothers watched, snow began to fly from beneath the Impala. A small whirlwind took shape around the car, nearly blinding them for a few moments.

“Cool!” Dean yelled.

“Wait!” Sam cried. “Hold on, Cas!”

Cas lowered his hand, and Dean could see that the Impala had sunk a couple feet below the surrounding snowbank.

“If the car hits the ground, and we don’t get back on the freeway, we’ll be buried in a snowdrift in no time,” Sam observed.

“We can _push_ ,” Dean countered.

“What if it doesn’t work? We’re in the ditch, Dean! It’s getting dark. If we’re stuck out here tonight, we need to be visible and keep the tailpipe open so we can keep warm. We can’t get buried or we’ll be here come spring!”

“So you wanna just sit here?!”

“Can we talk in the _car_?”

Dean bellowed in exasperation, snatched the shovels back, and fumbled the trunk open again, his fingers numb inside his leather gloves. Damn it, he hated it when Sam was right, and hated it worse when that meant a course of inaction. Shovels stowed, he turned and wallowed his way back to the driver’s side door. The small trench the Impala now sat in was beginning to fill up already.

They crawled back inside the car snow-covered, wind-burned and half-frozen. Dean’s fingers burned and tingled as he fumbled with the keys and started the ignition again. The air blasting from the heater was luke-warm, but it felt like a desert wind compared to outside.

“The hell,” he complained, looking over at Sam, who was stomping and shaking himself like the Yeti he was and yanking off his hat and gloves to fling the snow onto the floorboards. “We’re gonna have a lake in here.”

“That’s the least of our problems,” Sam replied a moment later, as Dean tried to find the weather on the radio again. He was swiping at his phone when Dean looked up at him again. “The highway’s closed now. Tractor-trailers blocking the road, accidents… plows can’t get through.”

Sam dialed a few numbers. “Yeah, hi,” he began, “we’re trapped on 80, stuck on the shoulder at mile marker 412. We ran it over… Yes, I know the road is closed now. Yes… we’ll be alright… no one’s injured… Of course.... Right—we’ll stay with the car…”

Cas leaned forward, over the seat, his face close to Dean’s. “Dean, your ears are frostbitten,” he said softly.

“Yeah?” Dean lifted a hand to pinch the tip of his ear, and couldn’t feel it.

“Let me help.” Dean felt Cas’ fingers nudge his out of the way, and close over the top of his right ear, then his left. Then there it was, that little injection of icy-hot grace: too cold at first, then so deliciously warm and soothing. Sometimes when Cas healed him he couldn’t help but let out an embarrassing moan—it was too much like sliding into a deliciously hot bath. But this time it was only his ears warming—and an “Ooh, yeah” didn’t seem out of line.

“Don’t you have a hat, Dean?”

Cas’ fingers slid to Dean’s shoulders, and Dean turned to look at him. “I don’t do hats.” Then he couldn’t help but grin. “I have _you.”_

Cas tried to frown, but it ended up more of a wry smirk. One of these days, Dean thought—not for the first time—he wanted to see that angel blush. Damn, but it was good to have him around again. It just felt right.

“Just so you know, _I_ was digging your snow-nado back there,” Dean murmured.

“You didn’t have to dig…”

“Ok, so, what’s the plan, guys?” Sam butted in. “We’ve got at least one sleeping bag in the trunk, a couple of space blankets…” he reached under the seat to rummage a moment, “feels like two bottles of water… and I’ve got a box of granola bars in the back. Dean, you’ve got what—half a sandwich here?”

“Yeah, I think we’ll live.”

“If we don’t freeze. We’re gonna have to take turns clearing the tailpipe so you can run the…”

“Dude, this ain’t our first rodeo,” Dean interrupted. “Don’t you remember that night outside Chicago after the vampire twins? Or that werewolf hunt with Dad in Montana? Stuck on some logging road in the snow for two days?”

Sam snorted. “No, and yes. Wasn’t with you on the vampire twin run. Thought we were gonna die in Montana.”

“Well, we’re _not_ sitting _here_ for two days, that’s for damn sure. And we’re not gonna die. Next plow truck that comes along we’re gonna flag down, and have ‘em yank us out of here.”

***

Night descended, and with it the temperature; the Impala soon grew dark and cold as a tomb inside, buffeted by the northwest wind. Dean fidgeted with everything he could reach, wishing his winter coat were warmer, listening to the wind howl with one ear and to Sam and Cas with the other—discussing the ingredients in the spell they needed to open the portal. They’d been over it a thousand times. They had the blood of a most holy man, and Cas had somehow located a fruit from the Tree of Life. Now they were concentrating on Solomon’s Seal. Was it the actual signet ring of the ancient king that was required? Or perhaps a simple pentagram or Star of David? There was also the flowering plant of the genus _Polygonatum_ , but that was an unlikely association, Cas thought. Yada, yada, yada.

Dean took his hands out of his gloves and blew on his fingers to try to warm them. “If we can’t open the door in time, Sam,” Cas was saying, “and Michael arrives, it will be nearly impossible to stop him.”

“Cas, didn’t you say Jack showed you paradise?” Sam asked. “Peace on Earth? What do you think that meant? Was it the… the post-Michael vs. Lucifer smackdown paradise all over again, or something else? And Jack has so much raw power—could _he_ stop Michael?”

“Michael is an ancient and very powerful being. Jack’s energy is raw, as you say—he is young, untrained, and naïve. He could never defeat Michael in a face-to-face battle. I could not let him try. I promised Kelly that I would…”

Dean turned around to face him. “Dude, I promised my Dad I’d look after Sam, and I’ve done my best, but I can’t be there every minute of every day. And shit happens. I couldn’t put Sam here in a plastic bubble, and you can’t do that to Jack either. He’s got his own life to live. Stop beating yourself up.”

“While I appreciate you trying to spare me regret, Dean, I do have a mission. It’s important that I do all I can to fulfill it, and that means protecting Jack.”

“Listen, if you think Jack brought you back to help prepare for war, maybe you need to help Jack prepare to kick some ass!”

“We need to get Jack—and Mom—back here first,” Sam interjected.

Dean sighed, glaring out the front window again. Sam and Cas droned on. _Jack, Jack, Jack._ While Dean had to grudgingly admit that the kid had grown on him, he was impatient with Cas’ fixation on the boy.

“Jack brought you back because we needed you back,” Dean had said to him at the bunker. But to Cas, it was all about his promise to be the kid’s bodyguard. And now he’d started talking about Apocalypse 2.0. Dean wasn’t sure which thought made him itchier. He’d been so happy when Cas first came back… but more than once recently, he’d caught himself mired to his own axles in a muck of childish jealousy.

Castiel was _Dean’s_ angel, dammit. _Dean_ had the profound bond with him. He’d never even had to share that with Sam—and he was used to sharing everything with Sam, including toothbrushes and underwear (whether Sam knew it or not). Sharing Castiel with Jack—even if Cas hadn’t changed the way he looked at Dean or came running to help him—just felt wrong.

And the whole Lucifer vs. Michael thing… he didn’t even want to think about the implications if they couldn’t nip it in the bud. Would the archangels be looking for Sam and Dean’s meatsuits again? What could Cas possibly do to help? Each time he’d tried to go up against an archangel, it ended very poorly. Dean couldn’t watch it happen again—he just couldn’t. But when Cas was on a mission, there was no stopping him from martyring himself, or worse.

Dean knew his train of thought was selfish, but fuck, he was tired of losing people he loved, and fighting the same battles over and over. He’d been through a lot. Maybe that entitled him to be a big fat baby sometimes.

“It’s really cold in here, Dean,” Captain Obvious pointed out. “We need to run the heater.” Sam craned his neck to look out the rear window. “Wind’s blowing right up our ass, and it looks like we’re drifted in. I’ll go clean off.”

“I can do that, Sam,” Castiel offered.

“No, that’s ok, I’m going to grab the blankets and stuff out of the trunk.”

“Yeah, try to keep the snow outta there—shit’s gonna rust,” Dean interjected.

“Wanna help?”

“You got this.” Dean gave him a patronizing smile. “I’ll take the next shift.”

Sam climbed out into the blizzard, and they both watched him stagger back to the trunk against the wind. Dean cringed to think about how he was going to have to take everything out back at the bunker to dry and clean it. Snow and guns—not a good combo. He really should be back there helping to hold the trunk lid—but Sam’s orangutan arms seemed up to the task. So what was taking so long? Finally, Sam had stowed the shovel and slammed the trunk again, and Dean could see him floundering back to the passenger side with an armload of sleeping bag. He was moving pretty slow…

Sam yanked open the back door, barely managing to hold it against the gale, and shoved a sleeping bag and a space blanket into the back seat. He was swearing a blue streak, gasping and clumsy, and Cas reached out and caught him by the forearm, dragging all 6’4” of him through the back door and practically into his lap.

“Shit… oh, shit…” Sam was hissing through his chattering teeth. With a flick of his wrist, Cas mojo-ed the door shut, but not before the car had lost every iota of heat remaining inside.

“Hey… you ok?” Dean reached into the back to grab his brother’s shoulder, as the angel helped him to sit up.

“Dude… it’s not f…funny out there. S… start the car.”

“Twenty below ain’t a joke.”

“I… I’ll be alright,” Sam stuttered. Snow stuck to him in clumps; it looked like he’d brought half an igloo in with him, Dean thought. He turned and started the engine again, gritting his teeth at the cool air blasting from the heater.

“Jesus, my face…” Sam groaned.

“Sam… your body temperature is dangerously low,” Cas observed.

“Uunngh… can’t feel my feet…”

“You shoulda let Cas go,” Dean chastised. He turned again to see Cas laying his fingers on Sam’s cheekbones, and Sam gasping, startled at the electric icy-hot current warming his skin. Sam raised his hands and grasped onto the angel’s wrists.

Cas frowned. “I’m concerned, Sam. You need to be warmed right away.”

“You two could get naked in the sleeping bag…” Dean suggested.

“Shut-up,” Sam croaked.

“I’m going to help you,” Cas said. Then, as Dean watched, the angel crowded Sam back against the seat, wrapping one arm around him as if they were about to make out—and laying the other hand against Sam’s chest. “Be still,” he instructed.

Sam grunted. “Can’t stop sh…shaking…”

“It’s alright. Don’t speak. Just breathe.”

For a moment or two, nobody moved. Sam let out a soft whimper… followed by a long, low moan. Dean stared curiously, but knew exactly what was going on. If anything could make a grown man moan like a little bitch, it was angel grace…

Then things got even weirder.

“Oh, man…” Sam groaned, “that feels _good._ Wha… what are you doing?”

“Energizing your heart center and raising your heart-rate,” Castiel replied matter-of-factly. “The increase in blood flow to your extremities will warm you.”

“Oh… wow…” Sam chuckled deep in his throat, which sounded a little pervy, and Dean felt a funny pang as Sam proceeded to put his arms around the angel. “This is _intense.”_

“It does seem to be working.”

“So you, uh… you’re feeling warmer?” Dean butted in.

Sam ignored him. Dean couldn’t really see his face in the dim interior of the car, pinned to the seat behind Cas, but he could hear the bliss in his voice.

“Mmm… Cas… I just… can I say something?”

“I need to concentrate, Sam…”

“But I… I just want to thank you… I’m so glad you’re here… back again with us…”

“I am too…”

Dean spiked an eyebrow as Sam removed his gloves, then slid a hand into Castiel’s hair and pulled him closer. What the ever-loving…?

It almost looked like Sam was going in for a lip-lock, but he must have just butted their foreheads together. “We love you, man. You know that, right?”

“Sam… yes…”

“You’re the best.”

“Thank you. You’re wonderful as well.”

“Mmm,” Sam purred again. “No one’s ever called me wonderful… This feels pretty wonderful… This… you should bottle this…”

“Can I get some?” Dean blurted, instantly feeling silly—and, he realized, a little jealous. What the hell?

A couple more minutes of heavy breathing and sighing on Sam’s part, then Castiel tried to pull away gently. “I should stop now, Sam.”

“What? Wait, hold on… don’t stop yet…”

“I must, or you’ll become feverish. Let me go now,” Castiel said firmly. Backing away, he took Sam’s arms and brought them down to his sides.

Sam groaned in disappointment.

“You feel better now, yes? Perhaps you should get some rest.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed. “Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel picked up the sleeping bag and shook the snow off of it, and Dean watched in amazement as Sam took it, spread it out in the back seat, then took his wet coat and hat off and climbed into the bag without a word, curling toward the seat back.

Next thing Dean knew, Cas was all boots, ass and elbows over the back of the seat, scrambling ungracefully into the front with him.

“He good?” Dean asked as Cas settled and turned to look at him. The heat from the vents was starting to feel lukewarm.

“Yes, he’ll sleep awhile. But now _you’re_ cold,” Cas replied, frowning at him.

Dean couldn’t deny he was indeed shivering pretty hard. The heater just wasn’t cutting it, and he had no way to really get his blood flowing; he sure as hell wasn’t going to get out and do jumping jacks on the freeway.

Cas reached toward him and Dean flinched, but his friend was simply unfolding a space blanket to tuck around him. “This will help a bit,” the angel said, “but perhaps not enough.” He reached back to pluck up Sam’s wool hat, and snugged it down over Dean’s head. Despite being damp, it still felt warm.

“Thanks, man. How are you? Y… you ok?”

“Fine. My grace is keeping me warm.” Cas smiled softly in the dark.

Dean eyeballed him. “So what, uh… what the hell _was_ that back there?” he asked, jerking his head toward Sam in the backseat.

“Like I told Sam, I was raising his heart-rate by stimulating his heart center.”

“Yeah, he… he was stimulated all right.”

The space blanket wasn’t helping much, and it was taking all Dean had to keep his teeth from chattering as his muscles convulsed and his body shook. But despite the cold and his earlier joking, he didn’t _really_ want any of what Sam just had. He didn’t need to start gushing and pawing at Cas like the drunk girl at the roadhouse. If Cas put that magic heart mojo on him, he had no idea what might come out of his mouth. Or maybe he did… that was even scarier.

“It’s what you’ve heard referred to as the Heart Chakra,” Cas continued. “I suppose that besides warming, a side effect of my treatment was that Sam felt his heart open, and experienced feelings of love and gratitude.”

“So you made him _feel_ shit?

“No, he already felt the shit,” Cas replied. “He just experienced the feelings more intensely. And you know how he likes to talk about feelings.”

“True dat,” Dean grunted. So maybe… maybe if Cas warmed _him_ , he wouldn’t be such a chatterbox. But nevertheless… he planned to sit and suffer as long as he could. Maybe help would arrive before he’d need Cas’ love-touch.

***

Twenty minutes went by, with Dean watching the Impala’s gas gauge drop below ¼ tank as the car idled. The old girl’s heater was no match for the wind and cold outside, which seeped through every seam and rivet. Pretty soon Dean couldn’t speak without stuttering and slurring, and he could feel Cas’ annoyance at his recalcitrance. He hunched down farther in the seat, wrapping his arms tighter around his quaking body. Cas had offered twice to warm him, and twice he’d said _no, thanks_.

“Dean,” Castiel growled, “if I weren’t here, would you crawl into that sleeping bag with Sam, or would you just fall asleep and die there at the wheel?”

“Y… you suggestin’ I’m stubborn?”

“Just a little.”

Dean sighed. He supposed he was done freezing to death; if he’d been trying to prove something, he’d now forgotten what it was. “So, you jus’ gonna sit there an’ be snarky, or you gonna warm me up now?”

Cas’ eye roll was visible even in the dark. He was getting better at that, Dean thought.

“I thought you’d never ask. Turn off the engine and come here,” Cas beckoned, and Dean turned the key, then slid into the middle of the seat, finding himself both eager and nervous as hell. With the engine stilled, all he could hear once again was the wind buffeting his baby. Castiel turned to face him, his knee pressing against Dean’s thigh, and suddenly Dean found himself in the angel’s arms. Cas had one hand on his shoulder, and with the other, he was unzipping Dean’s parka.

“Wait, hol’ on,” Dean sputtered, bringing a gloved hand up to halt him. “You know I… if I say some stuff…”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “You’ll remember every word.” He resumed trying to get at Dean’s chest. “And don’t worry—what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

Cas really has been watching too much TV, Dean decided.

Then Castiel’s warm hand slid inside his flannel, flattening against his t-shirt, over his sternum. The angel’s fingers spread out. “Breathe,” Castiel instructed.

Dean tried, but it was a challenge between the chattering and the shivering. He drew a deep gasp when it hit him hard—that icy cold, spreading like liquid nitrogen in his veins for a split second. Then there was warmth. Just a tiny bit, at first. It radiated from Castiel’s hand, into his chest, and his heart began to beat a little faster. Like he was jogging easily. He lifted a hand to the angel’s arm. He breathed out. Let his eyes flutter closed.

The warmth spread through his torso, and a few moments later, his shivering began to subside. This was nice. “Feels good, Cas,” he muttered. And indeed it felt… _really_ good. Like sliding into a hot bath good. Like standing next to a roaring woodstove on a cold day. He could finally breathe again. In and out smoothly.

Dean realized his fingers and toes were warming next, from the pins and needles sensation. He hadn’t realized how numb his feet were.

“Dude, you’re better than heated seats,” he sighed. “This is awesome.”

Subtly, the warmth began to morph into something more than physical heat. Heart beating strongly, he began to feel expansive. Open and unguarded. A little giddy, perhaps, but focused. _So it begins,_ thought Dean, _chick flick time._ But as soon as the thought formed, it flitted away like a bird. He felt light—easy. Friggin’ _joyful_.

He’d sometimes felt this way at Lisa’s house: Seeing her smile when he helped Ben with his homework; carrying his first roast chicken to the table; teaching Ben how to change the oil in his pickup.

He’d sometimes felt this way with Sam, on a really good day. Or with Cas. Lots of times, come to think of it, with Cas. For instance, when Cas would say something so kind or so amazingly dorky and it would just break the tension during a shitty hunt and make Dean grin. He couldn’t help but feel warm all over just thinking about it. Grateful for his angelic best friend.

Downright lovey-dovey.

He opened his eyes; Castiel’s hands were still on him, holding him gently but firmly, and the angel met his gaze from just a few inches away. His friend’s brow had a little furrow in the middle that Dean wanted to take a thumb to and smooth out. “It’s all good,” Dean blurted. “Thanks to you. Me and Sam mighta turned into popsicles if you weren’t here.”

Castiel’s eyes twinkled in the dark. “You’ve survived worse than this. You’re very resourceful. I’m sure that…”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean interrupted. “I’m just tryin’ to say, I’m so glad you’re here with us, popsicles or no. It just… it means everything to have you back, man.”

“Thank you, Dean.”

“Even if… y’know… you came back for Jack. I don’t care, I just…”

Cas tightened his grip on Dean’s shoulder. “Came back for Jack? Is that what you think?”

“Well _he_ woke you up. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to the little half-breed…”

“Dean…”

“And now he’s trying to help mom. Tryin’ his ass off. He kinda grows on you…”

“Dean. You must know…” and Dean’s insides melted to hear Castiel’s stern angel tone again, “… that when I awoke in The Empty, my first thought was not of Jack. It was of you. I told the Keeper I needed to get back to _you._ ”

Dean blinked. “You did?”

“Of course. Jack is my charge and he is very important. I do care for him as well. But you and I,” and here Castiel cupped Dean’s face in his warm, smooth hand, “we are _bonded_. We are best friends.”

Dean couldn’t help but beam. His heart swelled another size. “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

“Now, just try to breathe and rest quietly,” Cas told him.

But Dean couldn’t rest. Everything he’d wanted to say to Cas in the past six weeks—hell, the past six years—was bubbling up inside him. Some tiny voice on a distant shore in the back of his head was crying _keep your mouth shut,_ but he was being carried away by a riptide of love.

“Cas, there’s something else I been wanting to tell you…” Dean drew closer—he had to be closer—and like Sam, he slid a hand to the back of Castiel’s head, bringing the angel’s forehead against his own. Castiel stiffened a little, but Dean felt he had to make his friend understand…

“That time Ramiel stuck you and we all thought you were gonna croak in that barn, you… you said you loved me. You loved all of us…” And suddenly Dean recognized the emotion of that moment, the thing that had swelled in his chest that night, that he’d pushed down, terrified of losing it. Of _feeling it_ and then losing it. Now it filled him to bursting, nearly closing his throat, flooding his eyes with tears. “I didn’t tell you I loved you back, buddy. But… but we do, we all do, _I do._ I just couldn’t say it…” Now he was blubbering like a baby… “but then you died and I realized I _never_ said it. I NEVER FRIGGIN’ SAID IT. I wished I’d said it! Such a fucking jerk. Three simple words…”

“Dean,” Cas murmured, “it’s alright. You didn’t have to say it.”

“I wanted to,” Dean moaned.

“So say it. It’s not too late.” Cas squeezed Dean’s shoulder, rubbing gently. His other hand still on Dean’s chest.

“I love you.” There. He said it. And it felt… fucking good.

“I know.” Castiel’s eyes sparkled, and Dean pulled back to see the corner of his mouth quirking up in a little smile.

 “You know _? You know?_ Dude, did you just Han Solo me?”

Cas hummed in his throat. “I believe I did. But no one’s going to get cryogenically frozen this time.”

“How ‘bout just regular old-school frozen?” Dean said, sniffling and wiping his eyes.

The angel splayed his fingers wider against Dean’s breastbone, and the hunter’s heart skipped a beat as he felt an extra little pulse of sweet warmth. “No chance of that either, Dean. Because I love you, too.”

Dean bumped his forehead back against Castiel’s. So close. He could smell the angel’s sweet breath, feel its warmth on his face. He had turned to kneel on the seat, and Cas’ body pressed up against him at the thigh; they were holding each other’s shoulders. Dean let his left hand drop down Castiel’s bicep, kept the fingers of his right hand in his friend’s hair; he knew he should feel awkward about this embrace, but he just couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

All that blood flow to his extremities… well, once his fingers and toes had regained their warmth and flexibility, his dick had also begun to come to life. He didn’t know if it was having a warm body so close, or the little extra pumping his heart was doing, or both—but he was popping a chubby in his jeans, and it was getting harder and harder to ignore.

He lifted a knee and slid over onto Castiel’s lap.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked.

He really didn’t know. “I dunno,” he answered stupidly. “I just… I wanna be close.”

Little Dean felt rock solid behind his zipper. Little Dean had an endless supply of bad, bad ideas. Amazingly, Big Dean’s heart seemed to be game right now to try them.

“Dean…”

“Listen, I… I know you’re my best friend and maybe this isn’t a great idea—Chuck knows it’s not a great idea—but sometimes I look at you and you’re standing so close to me and I just… I just wanna drag you off to the nearest horizontal surface and get freaky. I just… you do something to me, man. I feel all kinds of ways with you…”

Castiel’s eyes had widened into round, sparkling pools under his dark brows.

“Is that bad? Is it… is it wrong? I can’t believe I’m telling you…”

“An expression of love is never wrong,” Cas replied carefully. “I too have imagined us having intercourse, if that’s what you mean by ‘get freaky.’” His eyes widened another fraction. “That is what you mean…?”

“Yeah,” Dean breathed. His thighs straddling Castiel’s were beginning to tremble. His dick ached.

“It’s all the same to me, Dean. I enjoy any sort of intimacy with you. I like riding in your car, or drinking at the bar, or watching Netflix together, or talking on the phone. I would also enjoy sex, I’m sure.”

Dean’s pulse leapt again. “Yeah? You would?”

“Of course. But I’m afraid that when you come out of this altered state, you will remember this conversation with some regret. You won’t want to have sex with me, and you might not even want to _look_ at me for a while. So I think we should stop right here.”

Dean frowned. Cas had a point, probably, but from his current perspective in the angel’s lap, the awkward Dean Winchester who could regret canoodling with Cas seemed like a long-ago version of himself who used to be kind of a dick. He looked into Cas’ wide eyes, dropped his gaze to Cas’ lush lips, which looked moist and inviting. There was really only one thing to do. He grabbed Castiel’s face and planted one on him.

Cas made a surprised noise, and used the hand on Dean’s chest to push him away an inch or two. “Dean, no… we shouldn’t do this…”

Dean pulled him back in. “You said you wanted it. I want it. Sam sleeps like a damn rock. Let’s do it.”

“But…”

Dean kissed him again, until the protests stopped. Until all he could hear was the wind howling, and the sounds of two people sucking face with enthusiasm—if not finesse. All he could smell and taste was Cas. All he could feel was Cas’ warm, wet mouth against his, Cas’ strong arms around him, his own dick hard in his pants and rubbing against the denim as he rolled his hips against nothing, because his knees against the seat back kept him from getting as close to Castiel’s pelvis as he longed to. And beneath his hands, Cas seemed to be… rumbling…?

Dean finally pulled away, his curiosity overcoming his lust momentarily. “Cas… is that _you_ , or is that the _car_? Buddy are you… are you _vibrating_?”

Castiel blinked at him in the dark, lips glistening. “You can feel my vibration?” There was a certain breathlessness to his question.

“Well yeah, you… it’s like you’re _purring._ Are you purring?”

“You can _feel it_ ,” Cas repeated, amazement in his voice. “Dean, you couldn’t hear my voice or see my true form—but you can feel me singing!”

It was Dean’s turn to be amazed. “You’re _singing?_ Like “Angels We Have Heard on High,” Glory Hallelujah singing?”

“Yes, but very quietly. I don’t want to broadcast on angel radio, as you might say.”

A million questions popped into Dean’s head. “Why are you singing? And _what_ —like old show tunes, or Lynrd Skynrd? Greatest Heavenly Hits? How come I can’t actually hear it?”

“My grace is singing, Dean. It’s not like human singing, exactly. It’s… involuntary. It happens in the presence of God…”

“God? Really?” Dean sat up straight; this could only mean one thing. “Cas, is Chuck back??”

“No… you didn’t let me finish. I was going to say… or in the presence of love.”

“Oh…” Dean felt gobsmacked. This was so cool. He was making his angel sing!

Cas ran a hand down Dean’s arm. “That’s not all, Dean. I think we’re syncing…”

“Sinking?” Now he was puzzled. “Sinking how?”

“Synchronizing,” Cas explained. “Syncing our vibrations. I’ve raised yours by stimulating your heart center, and mine seems to have lowered to the point where you can feel it. “That means…” Cas leaned forward and closed the space between them, and Dean’s awareness shifted again as the angel’s lips touched his gently.

“Means what?” he murmured.

Cas smiled against his mouth. “Now I can feel your kisses.”

When they finally stopped for another breather, Dean realized he’d lost all track of time. How long had they been making out? His lips felt swollen and his face hurt and he was panting like a dog in the sun. Castiel’s fingers were clutching handfuls of his ass—squeezing him like an orange—and that was making him more than a little crazy. But that meant…

“Cas,” he gasped, reaching behind him,” put your hand back on my…”

“No, Dean… you are warm enough. Overstimulated, I’m afraid.”

“Uungh… you can say that again.”

“Why?”

“What? Jesus… never mind… dude… oh God… you gotta stop that…”

“Why? Clearly you like it.”

Of course he liked it. He liked it way too much. He was sitting in Castiel’s lap, shoving his tongue down Castiel’s throat, while his purring angel fondled his ass with those long, strong fingers. What wasn’t to like? Other than the fact that he wanted MORE, NOW. He wanted those fingers down his pants, he wanted some skin, he wanted to get horizontal with Cas and grope and _grind._ He’d gone way past the point of no return, and he wanted Cas more than he could ever recall wanting anything else in his crazy life. He wanted to show Cas just how much the angel meant to him, in every man-love way conceivable. Even if that shit had felt inconceivable yesterday.

He let out a whimper, and Castiel let go of one ass cheek to cup his face and bring him in for another hot, wet kiss. “It’s alright, Dean,” the angel soothed. “I know what you need. I can help.”

“You… you sure?” Dean couldn’t bother to be annoyed about the mind reading.

“Of course.”

“Awesome.”

Castiel began opening his tie, then unbuttoning his own shirt while Dean watched, panting, in the semi-darkness. He undid five buttons, then took one of Dean’s hands and slid it inside, against his breast. “Touch me,” the angel whispered.

Dean thumbed Cas’ nipple, leaned in to kiss along his jawline, as Castiel then unfastened Dean’s belt buckle, unsnapped his jeans. Dean rose to his knees, allowing Cas to unzip his fly and tug the denim open and down, then carefully free his cock.

“Oh God yes…” Dean moaned.

“This is what you want?”

“Yes… Cas, yes…” Those gentle, strong fingers wrapped around his dick, thumb smearing pre-come leaking from the head, and began to stroke.

Up on his knees, awkwardly bent over Castiel’s head and staring at his snoring brother in the back seat, Dean came quickly undone. Cas was jerking him with one hand, clasping his ass cheek with the other, and he knew he should worry about Sam waking up—he couldn’t stop whimpering, and the wet sound of Castiel’s hand milking him seemed obscenely loud—but he really couldn’t give a shit.

He grabbed Castiel’s head with both hands, tugging at the angel’s hair, his body bowed under the Impala’s roof. Cas looked up, doe-eyed and panting, and Dean realized with surprise that his angel was just as wrecked as he was.

“Dean…” Cas breathed, “Dean…”

“Buddy, I love this… Oh, God… you’re amazing…” Dean babbled, his heart trying to crawl from his mouth.

“I love it, too.”

“Yeah? Oh God… I just… I’m so gay for you right now…”

“I’m gay for you, too, Dean,” Cas assured him.

“Ah. Oh… Oh Christ, I’m gonna…”

“Kiss me,” Cas insisted, breathless. “Kiss me so you don’t cry out.”

And Dean did.

Moments later, tucked back cleanly into his jeans, he slumped in Castiel’s lap, doing what could only be described as cuddling his best bud. Cas rubbed his back, his body warm and comforting (and rumbling like a Harley), and Dean drifted, so sweetly satisfied. He could fall asleep right here with his head on Cas’ shoulder, except…

“Dammit,” he muttered, “here I go again bein’ a selfish ass…” He sat up sleepily, and sent a hand groping toward Cas’ crotch. “Guess I left you idling, didn’t I? You need some help?”

“No, Dean. I need nothing,” Cas replied, taking gentle hold of his wrist. “Rest now.”

“No, c’mon, it’s your turn. Lemme do it. Pretty sure I can.”

“Thank you, but I don’t need you to.”

Dean scowled, pulling his hand back. “Why not? Thought you were feeling this.”

“I did feel it. I climaxed already.” He smiled in the dark. “It was very nice.”

“What?” Dean’s eyebrows buried themselves in his hairline. “You mean you already came? In your pants?”

Castiel’s face fell. “Is that bad?”

“Well it’s pretty goddamn lame on my part,” Dean growled. He was still guilt-tripping from leaving Cas’s ass in Hell—and just when he didn’t think he could be a shittier pal…

“Don’t feel guilty. I couldn’t stop myself, Dean.” Cas cupped his jaw tenderly, sliding a thumb across his lower lip. His focused gaze made Dean’s dick twitch again.

“Bringing you pleasure is intoxicating to me,” Cas purred. “And making you ejaculate was incredibly stimulating.”

Dean blinked. “Damn.” Cas shouldn’t say shit like that. “Uh, so,” he managed, “next time then. I’ll make it up to you.”

Cas made a skeptical noise, smiling wanly. He dropped his hand from Dean’s face and patted the seat beside him. “Rest now, Dean. Lay your head on my lap if you like.”

“You don’t believe me…”

“I believe that tomorrow you’ll see things differently.”

Dean sighed, climbing off his lap and rearranging himself on the seat. With a few contortions, he was able to curl around the steering wheel and lie on his side, with his head on the angel’s thigh and his bent knees against the door. It occurred to him that he couldn’t monitor the windows or the mirrors anymore for an approaching plow, however.

Cas read his mind again. “ Don’t worry, I’ll watch over you both and keep you warm,” he said, “and I’ll alert you to approaching vehicles in plenty of time.”

“Good enuf…” Dean mumbled.

Before Cas finished tucking the space blanket around him, he was asleep.

***

Back in his bedroom at the bunker, he closed the door behind him and turned to Cas. “Just me and you now, buddy,” he told the angel. “And it’s your turn…”

Castiel blinked at him, and the look on his face reminded Dean of their night at the brothel—their first “last night of our lives.”

“Hey,” Dean said. “Don’t be scared. You know I got you. I got this. You don’t have to do a thing.”

He stepped up to Cas and took the angel in his arms, kissing him deeply—and feeling him respond in kind. Cas seemed to melt against him, soon warm and willing, and it was only a few moments until Dean could feel it begin. Cas was purring.

“There it is,” Dean grinned.

Dean barely registered their clothes coming off, then he was bearing his friend down on his beloved memory foam bed in a tangle of naked arms and legs. They had some unfinished business—a debt Dean needed to pay—and he intended to make good.

Cas writhed beneath him as Dean kissed his mouth, his neck, his chest, feeling Castiel’s hands on him as he dipped lower, sliding down between the angel’s legs, glorying in skin on warm skin.

“Gonna make you feel good—show you how it’s s’posed to be done,” Dean said. Even though he’d never actually _done_ _it_ before in his life.

Between his spread thighs, Castiel’s cock stood full and flushed, blue-veined and pink-headed and fucking magnificent, and Dean’s mouth filled with saliva.

“Please Dean,” Cas begged, sliding a hand into his hair. “Please. I need you.”

He didn’t have to ask twice; Dean filled his mouth with the angel’s thick cock and goddamn, but it was delicious. The skin warm and velvety smooth, it slipped slick against his tongue as he sucked and licked and lapped at it, going down on his friend again and again. Cas cradled his head, encouraging him, calling his name.

“Dean… dean…”

He was going to make Cas cum so hard, and he couldn’t wait to watch that cock blow its load, and see what Cas’ orgasm face looked like.

“Dean…”

Cas deserved this pleasure, and Dean would give it to him.

“Dean, please…”

Dean looked up at Cas through his eyelashes, mouth still stuffed with cock, to see the angel’s blue eyes blazing back at him. Cas tightened his hand in Dean’s hair and growled,

“Dean, wake up!”

***

Dean nursed the Impala up to the first pump and Sam bailed out before he’d rolled to a stop. “Got breakfast,” he tossed over his shoulder as he slammed the door—not before a blast of icy air filled the car again. Dean growled, watching Sam jog into the truck stop. The sun was just peeking above the horizon, and white clouds of exhaust billowed from the fleet of semis parked nearby, rumbling in the frigid dawn as their drivers loaded up on coffee and crullers.

“You probably need to urinate,” Cas declared beside him. “I will pump gas. Leave me your credit card.”

Dean avoided looking to his right. “Yeah, ok, thanks,” he mumbled. He knew he was proving Castiel right, but he just couldn’t look at his friend in the morning light; both out of shame and confusion over last night’s activities—and because Cas had left his goddamn shirt unbuttoned at the top, and his tie was crooked as hell, and that was kinda…

He did have to piss like a racehorse, after all, and if he could only get out of the car, maybe his extra-woody morning hard-on would finally subside.

Hustling into the truck stop before his face could freeze, he knew he couldn’t just leave this thing dangling; that would make him crazy. Maybe he could grab a minute to talk with Cas. What the hell had happened last night? Did Cas really jerk him off? Did he really say the “L” word—and all that other sappy stuff?

_“I’m so gay for you?”_ Dean muttered to himself, incredulous.

He shook his head. He hoped to God Sam had really slept through it all. Then there was the dream, which he couldn’t stop thinking about from the time he bolted upright from Castiel’s lap. He really didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he had enjoyed playing the skin flute quite so much—even if just in his dreams. So much that he kept replaying the lurid scene in his head. So much that his hard-on was still persisting, 10 miles later.

What the hell?

He took care of business as fast as he could and fled the building, glad to see that Sam was still picking out just the right banana in the deli section. Maybe he’d have a minute or two to put this thing to bed and get the angel’s dick out of his head. Mouth. Whatever.

Cas was sitting quietly in the cold car when he returned and slid back into the driver’s seat. “So listen, Cas,” he began, turning to his friend before he could chicken out. “Thanks a bunch for saving our asses. But we kinda need to talk.”

Cas turned to him, expression typically inscrutable. He wasn’t going to make this easier.

“So last night, did we, uh… did you really…” words failed him, and Dean made a loose gesture at his crotch, blushing furiously even as he did so.

Cas squinted at him. “Yes,” he replied. “Your memory serves you correctly.”

“Ugh… ok. Uh. So… weird shit was happening and you were making me say stuff, and I got a little out of control, y’know? So… I… I’m sorry if I took advantage and I don’t want things to be awkward, and I’m hoping we can just forget last night happened. Y’know?”

The angel’s lips thinned. “I didn’t make you say anything, and you don’t need to be sorry or feel awkward. And no.”

“No... That’s it, just ‘no’?” Dean sat up straighter, starting to bristle. “Dude, I couldn’t help myself, A., and B., I distinctly remember you saying, ‘What happens in Vegas…’”

Castiel sighed, turning his gaze out the front window. “Dean, when you leave Las Vegas, do you leave your winnings behind?”

“What? No…”

“Of course not—you take them home to enjoy.”

“Uh…” Dean was taken aback. Dude kinda had a point. Shit.

“It can be our secret. But I refuse to forget. Last night felt… precious to me,” Cas finished softly. Something flickered across his face, and Dean thought he looked sad—just for a moment.

Dean felt like an ass all over again. But…

“Thought you said it was all the same to you. Drinking beer, road tripping, hand jobs… no difference.”

Cas lifted his chin, but still didn’t look at Dean. “I was wrong. I didn’t know that syncing with you would make such a difference. But it did.” Cas turned to him then, and looked at him hard. “I didn’t just feel your junk, Dean. I felt your heart. And you felt _me._ ”

Dean couldn’t look away. Why was he being a jerk about this? Did he really want to forget the way it felt to make his angel sing? _His_ angel… the best thing that had ever happened to him…

“And I would very much like to revisit the experience,” Cas said, adding carefully, “someday… when you’re ready.”

Sam yanked the door open and Dean was left blinking dumbly in his seat.

“You ok, man?” Sam asked a moment later through a mouthful of banana, the delicious aroma of three coffees wafting through the car from the steaming beverage holder in his lap. “Ready to go?”

“Yeah,” Dean said automatically, still gazing at Cas, his hands going through the motions as he started the car. Somehow, it felt as though his life were shifting tectonically. “I’m ready.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the Jimi Hendrix song. Please leave a note - I'd love to hear what you think!! Make my day - I hope I've made yours.


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